


palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss

by historymiss



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/M, spoilers for harrow the ninth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:28:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historymiss/pseuds/historymiss
Summary: Camilla and Palamedes, and an unusual intimate moment.(Because some quarters of the fandom have a startling lack of imagination)
Relationships: Camilla Hect/Palamedes Sextus
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss

Camilla watches the hand scuttle like a spider on its nubbins, skittering across the bulkheads of the shuttle with a sound not entirely unlike rain. It is.... endearing, she supposes, as the hand taps its middle finger, thinking.

“I’m here, Warden.” She reaches out and runs a finger over the join where the carpal bones jostle together, scaphoid against lunate, and turns him gently around. Laying her palm flat, she watches as his fingers walk their way onto her hand, arched and delicate as a cat. The hand stays there a moment, swaying as if in indecision, before lightly drawing a pitted phalange across the skin of her wrist.

It is familiar, the gentleness of this, and if she closed her eyes Camilla can almost imagine that the bone is just a callus, the hand light because his fingers have always been deftly graceful. Her breath remains even and controlled, all the same, and she lifts her arm with a swordswoman’s steadiness to let him crawl, painstaking, up to her face. He brushes his finger against her lips.

She lets the caress trace the dip of her philtrum and smiles a gentle curve for the bone to walk along, so that he might know her pleasure at the dry, cool touch of his fingers. The bumps of knuckles whisper along the skin of her neck and she leans back, letting the hand crawl its way down over her breasts and the taut muscle of her belly.

She gasps when the first finger slides in, not from surprise but instead the satisfied exhale of relief, something finding its proper place. The bone has warmed from her skin and despite the pressure- careful, almost clinical, unchanged despite death- it is hard, somehow, to tell where she ends and his hand begins. Her hips move urgently, pushing into the touch: another finger slides in and her gut aches with the need of it. 

His name is a benediction, and when she licks her lips she can taste him, iron and paper and antiseptic, a ghost whose touch deep inside her pulls like a magnet.

“Warden.” Camilla breathes, shuddering, eyes closed against the empty reality. “I’m here.”


End file.
